


Tis The Season

by Socket



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Drama, F/F, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Getaway, Valentine's Day, angsty fluff, seasonal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 11:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socket/pseuds/Socket
Summary: A place for my Seasonal/Holiday-related Fridget fics (set in S4).Christmas: Franky and Bridget’s first Christmas together is filled with unmitigated disasters. Including combustible plants, elf costumes, a regrettable office party and a wayward gift.Valentine's: Bridget plans the perfect Valentine’s Day but an innocent mix-up leads to an unfortunate misunderstanding.Weekend Getaway: Franky and Bridget decide to getaway for a romantic weekend. Their plans quickly go awry.





	1. Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Bit late, I know. At this rate maybe I’ll write the Valentine’s Day fic I meant to in time for next Christmas.

**I.**

“What do you reckon?” Franky asked, smiling proudly as she indicated the Christmas tree (of sorts) she’d just dragged into the living room.

Bridget, who was stood in the kitchen, dousing the Christmas Pudding she had been preparing for months with brandy, looked up. Her eyebrows raised quizzically. “It’s a Bush,” Bridget stated. Wondering what had happened to the pine tree she’d placed on order from _Four Season’s Garden Centre_ back in October that Franky was supposed to have picked-up on her way home from work.

“It’s a native tree of these here backwaters - Christmas Aussie style. Embrace it Gidge,” Doyle enthused.

“What happened to the pine tree?”

“I thought you of all people would appreciate a good bush,” Franky teased.

Bridget rolled her eyes. 

It’s their first proper Christmas together. Last year Gidge had spent Xmas in Queensland with her brother (organised long before they were officially ‘together’) and Franky had spent Christmas drowning her sorrows in a dive bar singing karaoke with a biker gang, all the while pinning for Gidge. So this year – Franky was pulling out all the stops. She wanted to make this holiday memorable, wanted them to start their own traditions – beginning with the tree.

Bridget gazed at it; the cream coloured flowers adorning the bush were pretty but she preferred the traditional tree her family got every year but the hopeful look on Franky’s face melted her resolve. Franky asked for so few concessions, she felt unable to refuse.

“Fine – it can stay,” Bridget sighed reluctantly.

Franky grinned. “Great! Let’s get a-decorating,” she said jovially. 

They found a nice spot for the bush by the window, then Doyle tore into a box marked ‘Xmas Ornaments’ which Bridget had hauled out of the attic earlier. They proceeded to unpack various decorations.

As Franky unravelled gold tinsel, she couldn’t resist. “I’ve always wanted a bush I could - ”

“If you finish that sentence - I swear I’m sending it back!” the blonde warned as she untangled a string of fairy lights.

Franky held up her hands, an innocent expression plastered across her face, then stepped in close behind her girlfriend and wrapped her arms around Bridget’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already do!” Bridget groaned.

Franky placed several soft kisses against the base of Gidge’s neck, then leaned down and retrieved a beautiful berry wreath from the ornaments box. She headed to the front door and hung it proudly.

Together they decorated the house and yard with lights and tinsel. Franky never noticed how homely Christmas decorations could make a place feel. They were throwing baubles, tinsel and fairy lights at the Christmas bush when there was a knock at the door. 

Franky pulled it open and her eyes landed on a school choir – who erupted into heavenly song. They sang a Christmas carol she recognised and looked so angelic she wanted to donate her entire month’s pay cheque to their collection box.

She shook herself mentally – this whole Christmas malarkey was starting to get to her. Franky didn’t believe in Santa or goodwill to mankind – that was Gidge’s bag. But for some reason she found a lump forming in her throat; found her heart swell with... what the fuck was that? Christmas cheer? She wanted to kick herself. How the fuck had Bridget convinced her that Christmas was wonderful? That all her shitty Xmases as a kid could be made-up for? That this Christmas would be different? 

Franky had always hated Christmas – that’s what happy families did – but Gidge had infected her with the Christmas spirit. Suddenly she was excited about spending the holidays with her girlfriend, exchanging presents, watching sappy Christmas movies, drinking mulled wine, eating mince pies and listening to carols. It was a first. But Gidge had opened her eyes to so many things she’d written off, made her want things she’d long supressed, made her feel safe enough to want them again.

As the carol singers launched enthusiastically into a new song, Bridget moved beside her, slipped her arm about Franky’s waist and leaned into her. Franky smiled as the 20 strong carol singers hit the high notes of “Silent Night” and suddenly felt overcome. Her fingers grazed Bridget’s hip and she felt the warmth of Gidge’s body press into her, felt the heat of Gidget’s breath against her neck. Everything felt right. Like this was how it was meant to be. She finally had her happy ever after.

The sentimentality of the moment lasted another carol and then a high pitched screech perforated the air. It was the fire alarm. Franky and Bridget turned to see their Christmas bush on fire. Bridget froze in shock. The choir halted singing and Franky rushed forward. She grabbed the antique patch-work quilt from the back of the sofa and threw it over the burning bush – knocked it to the ground and stomped out the flames.

She turned to see Gidge surrounded by a sea of children staring open mouthed at the charred remains of the Christmas bush, billowing smoke coming from the molten mess of tinsel, melted fairy lights and charcoal baubles.

Franky smiled nervously at her girlfriend. “I’ll just go get that pine tree, pick-up some ornaments, maybe a fire extinguisher…” she glanced at the scorch marks on the floor. “And a rug.” 

She kissed Bridget’s cheek, ignoring the rigid tension in the blonde's body. “See you later,” she said and quickly exited.

**II.**

Franky tugged at her collar. The green elf suit was itchy, the hat was too tight and the pointy ears pinched.

She was trying to remember how Bridget had roped her into playing an elf for Santa’s grotto at the local Children’s hospice; then an image of Bridget joining her in the shower flashed through her mind. _Damn_ she had to stop letting Bridget talk her into things during sex. It put her at a distinct disadvantage. 

Just then Gidge breezed past, scantily clad in a Mother Christmas outfit. All sleek velvet, fluffy white hem and a criminal expanse of leg. She looked glorious and as Bridget glanced at Franky, a mischievous sparkle in her eye, Franky tried to remember to breathe. She licked her lips nervously, heart pounding.

“Just two more wards to go,” Bridget assured her, voice low and sultry, then ran her hand lightly down Franky’s back. “Thanks for doing this.”

Franky shivered and narrowed her eyes; oh Bridget knew what she was doing alright. _Well, two can play at that game._

Franky glanced around, making sure they couldn’t be overheard, then leaned close to Bridget. “I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to get on Santa’s good side. I’ve been a very, very bad girl,” she whispered.

Bridget’s breath caught, her tongue darted out and wetted her lips. Franky grinned. Their eyes met; Franky’s simmered with desire and Bridget’s immediately darkened in response. Franky bit down on her bottom lip, then said as suggestively as she could; “I’ve been incredibly _naughty_. I deserve to be punished.”

Bridget smirked, her finger nails digging into Franky’s back. “Oh, I’m sure we can find a suitable punishment when we get home. Breaking-in bad girls is my speciality.”

Franky gulped and her pulse skyrocketed. She had long-ago given up the urge to fight the effect Gidge had on her... there was something so potent about this attraction. Something irresistible and reverent.

Their eyes meet and for a moment, the world stilled. Nothing existed but them.

Franky tilted her head, her lips precariously close to Bridget’s. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“And you’re highly kissable,” Gidge retorted breathlessly.

Franky raised her eyebrows and matched her flirty tone. “I’ll bet you say that to all the elves.”

Bridget winked and sauntered off, leaving Franky a helpless, stuttering mess.

Little did she know it would take six hours of being stuck in a lift with two disgruntled nurses, three hyper-active kids and a sloshed Santa desperate for the loo before she could ravage Bridget. Once the emergency services prised the lift doors open and freed them, Franky grabbed Bridget’s hand and yanked her towards the nearest exit.

She’d had sex on the brain all day and the ache between her legs couldn’t wait any longer.

As soon as they reached the car, Franky, unable to fend off her desire anymore, pushed Bridget against the leather of the backseat, her hand buried between Bridget’s legs, shoving aside underwear, sliding into her, fingers driving hard, stretching and burning. Making Bridget scream into Franky’s shoulder as her orgasm overtook her. 

When they got home they barely made it through the front door before Bridget backed Franky into the wall and took her against the bookshelf… the wood pressed into her spine as Bridget dropped to her knees, tugged Franky’s trousers down and her hot mouth worked her into a frenzy, tongue thrusting relentlessly into her. Franky’s head falling back with a thud as her eyes fluttered shut and a series of uncontrolled gasps escaped her clenched lips.

They hit every wall, every surface, on their way to the bedroom, in a lust-filled haze. 

As she lay in bed, sated and sweaty, Bridget’s arm resting possessive across her stomach, Franky seriously considered volunteering to be Santa’s helper next year too. Just fleetingly. 

**III.**

Bridget and Franky were seated in the Emergency Department of _Geelong Hospital_. Bridget’s shirt was covered in blood and her back was stiff from sitting in the unforgiving chairs of the waiting room. 

She glanced at Franky, who has fallen asleep, her head resting on Bridget’s shoulder. The blonde sighed; completely drained. She hadn’t thought this was how they’d round-off the evening when she’d first agreed to attend Franky’s office Christmas party.

It had all started out so well. 

When Bridget arrived at _Legal Relief_ , the party was in full swing. They’d closed-up shop; everyone was swigging cheap wine and wearing paper hats. Full of cheer and a little too much vino. Music played in the background, some colleagues danced in a space created by desks pushed back against the wall.

Franky was stood by the noticeboard, chatting to Howard about criminal jurisdiction when Bridget approached. Howard was fresh out of law school and had only started at _Legal Relief_ last week. He was eager and shinning with idealism; Franky had a lot of time for him.

“Hey baby,” she greeted Gidge as the blonde approached. She reached out her hand, linked their fingers and drew her close. 

Franky was a sight for sore eyes after a long day at _Wentworth_ and a stack of paperwork that could rival Mount Everest. As Franky beamed at her girlfriend and snaked an arm around Bridget‘s waist, kissing her temple. Bridget felt the tension leave her.

“Howard, this is my better half,” Franky introduced. Her thumb brushing Bridget’s lower back.

Howard shook her hand enthusiastically. “Nice to finally be able to put a face to the name. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he declared.

Bridget smiled disarmingly. “I can only imagine.”

He barked a laugh. “Only good, I assure you.”

Ms Fessler, Franky's boss, moved towards them. She held a glass of wine out to Bridget and offered a warm smile. Despite her gruff exterior, she had a heart as wide as the ocean. Bridget smiled back appreciatively.

“Thanks,” the blonde said, taking the proffered glass.

“I’ve got Bridget on speed dial - she’s the only one who can rein our Franky in,” Fessler said good-humouredly.

Bridget beamed. “Franky’s a law unto herself.” 

Franky gave a small wave, mock insulted. “Standing right here, guys. I have a problem with authority, not my hearing.”

Howard laughed. 

Bridget took a gulp of wine; damned if she’d be the only sober one here.

Just then, Lowan and Jasmine walked past, exchanging furtive looks. Jasmine ran a hand through her mussed hair as they parted company.

“Nice couple,” Howard observed.

The women turned to him, puzzled.

“They’re not a couple,” Fessler exclaimed.

“Sure they are,” Howard said adamantly. “I saw them kissing and holding hands in the car park.”

Franky’s eyes widened with alarm.

Two important things Howard hadn’t realised: 1) Lowan and Jasmine were married – to other people. They’d been having an affair for six months and thus far had managed to keep it a secret. 2) Jasmine’s husband, Tyler, just happened to be standing behind Howard when he made this statement and had heard every word.

The rest happened so fast, it was a blur.

Tyler grabbed Howard by the throat and pinned him against the wall. He threw a robust punch. Yelling that anyone that talked shit about his wife got what they deserved.

The crack of bone reverberated through the office. Blood spurted from Howard’s nose and Bridget launched at Tyler – trying to pull him off.

Alerted to her husband’s outburst, Jasmine rushed forward to help separate the two men. Franky jumped into the mix when Tyler grabbed hold of Bridget’s arm. Somehow – Franky managed to push him off. Jasmine wrapped her arms around her enraged husband and whispered soothingly into his ear in an attempt to calm him down.

Howard clutched his nose, howling in pain. Bridget inspected his injury, getting coated in blood in the process. The bone was broken and protruding, he needed immediate medical attention. She didn’t want to send him alone in a taxi to the hospital and since she was the only sober one at the party, she would have to drive.

Fessler grabbed a tea towel from the kitchenette to stem the bleeding. Then they bustled Howard out of the building. Franky piled him into the back of Bridget’s car and they set off for the nearest hospital, leaving Fessler to defuse the situation with Tyler.

Three hours later and they were still waiting for Howard to be treated by a doctor. He’d already seen the triage nurse, been given pain medication and sent for an x-ray. They were just awaiting an expert opinion.

Bridget sipped her now cold coffee and winced. Her eyes skimmed across the waiting room again. She glanced at the clock. Time seemed to be going backwards. She stifled a yawn and Franky stirred. 

Doyle sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. She took in her girlfriend’s dishevelled appearance and looked apologetic. “Sorry,” Franky mumbled. “I didn’t expect the office party to be quite so eventful.”

Bridget offered a tired smile. “It’s not your fault.”

Franky reached out, placed her hand on Bridget’s knee and squeezed gently. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Just then Howard appeared, his nose reset and bandaged-up, a dopey, morphine smile on his face. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he said self-consciously. 

Franky and Bridget stood up. Doyle patted him on the back. “Let’s get you home, eh?”

She took Bridget’s hand and they headed towards the exit.

 **IV.**  
Bridget raced into the spare room – she didn’t hide it here, she knows, but the panic is setting-in and it’s the only place she hasn’t looked.

She upends furniture, pushes things aside, looks under and over and behind objects – no luck.

She bought Franky’s Christmas present two months ago, had wrapped it and hid it but... seems to have mislaid it. She thought she had plenty of time to find it but it’s now Christmas Eve and she still has no idea where it is or what she can give Franky if she can’t find it. 

In her mind, Bridget tried to retrace her steps. She comes-up empty. She’s not a careless person. If she thought she put it in a shoebox at the back of the wardrobe - she put it in a shoebox at the back of the wardrobe. 

But it’s not there. 

Maybe Franky found it? This thought occupies her for a moment. Then Bridget discards it. There’s no way Franky could keep a secret like that from her for a whole week. Franky is a consummate liar (with others) but she’s utterly hopeless with Bridget – the blonde can always winkle the truth out of her.

Bridget moved into the kitchen and scavenged through drawers and cupboards to no avail. She heard a noise and stilled; it’s gone 1am and Franky should be asleep. Her heart jumped when she heard footsteps and Franky emerged, sleep ladened, from the bedroom. 

Doyle rubbed her eyes. “What you doin’ up?” she quizzed.

“Just needed some water,” Bridget lied.

Franky nodded sleepily. “Me too,” she moved towards the sink, poured herself a glass of water and sipped it greedily. She studied Bridget, eyes half-closed. “You alright?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” Franky set the glass down on the draining board. “For a moment I thought you were freakin’ out about the present you lost.”

As Franky strolled back to bed, Bridget’s eyes widened and she chased after the brunette.

When Bridget entered the bedroom, Franky had already collapsed back into bed, lying on her front. Bridget leapt onto the mattress and straddled her back. Franky groaned under her weight. 

Bridget pounded her palms impatiently against Franky’s back. “Where is it?” the blonde demanded.

“What? Leave me alone woman! You’re insatiable!” Franky grumbled.

Bridget changed tack – her touch lightened and her long fingers massaged Franky’s shoulders encouragingly. “Baby? Where’d you put the gift I bought you?” she purred.

Franky grinned into her pillow. “I sent you a text.”

Bridget scooped up her mobile from the bedside table. She flicked the screen into life, her jaw dropping open at the text message and accompanying photos.

Franky had taken a series of selfies with the gift Bridget had bought her. The distinctive red wrapping paper with skiing penguins taunted her. There was Franky and the gift waiting for a bus, sat at a terrace cafe enjoying a coffee, on a rollercoaster ride, sitting on the lounger out in the back yard (the gift wearing sunglasses – a book open before it as if reading and sipping a cocktail). 

Bridget flicked through a whole host of photos showing Franky and her Christmas present in various scenarios. Bridget couldn’t help but laugh. It had clearly taken a great deal of effort on Franky’s part to carry off this prank; Bridget had to admire her gumption and tenacity. 

She set down her phone and turned her attention back to her girlfriend. “Where is it now?” said asked, deathly serious. 

Franky pointed to Bridget’s side of the bed. Bridget pulled back the sheet to reveal the (now slightly battered) gift sitting on her pillow. Bridget snorted with amusement and then bent forward – peppering a fury of kisses across Franky’s shoulders.

“That’s better,” Franky sighed.

“Cheeky!” Bridget exclaimed and slapped Franky’s backside.

Franky groaned and then flipped them over, pinning Bridget beneath her. The blonde’s hands reached out and gripped Franky’s shoulders, pulling her close. Their noses barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling.

“Why Gidge, I do believe you enjoyed your Christmas surprise,” Franky teased.

Bridget wrapped her legs about Franky’s waist and pulled her impossibly closer. 

“And now you’re going to enjoy yours,” promised the blonde as she grazed her fingers down Franky’s back and slid them into her underpants.

**V.**

Franky was the first to admit it was a stupid argument. They hadn’t spoken for three hours. Bridget was pissed, Franky guilt-ridden (and seriously considering sleeping on the sofa tonight).

Franky had, accidentally, eaten the Christmas Pudding Gidge had spent months preparing. On paper it didn’t sound too bad but Gidge had spent six months religiously preparing the cake for Christmas Day - feeding it regularly with brandy to build the flavour and keep it moist. She'd nurtured that cake, worried about it, checked on it, talked to it… and Franky had unthinkingly demolished it.

Getting back from an early morning run and feeling a bit peckish, Franky had needed a sugar boost and there – right in front of her, on the kitchen counter - was the answer. She’d thought it was just a fruitcake and was therefore perfectly acceptable to eat.

“I can’t believe you sometimes!” Bridget had shouted when she’d discovered Franky with a spoon in her hand, crumbs around her mouth and an empty bowl.

Franky looked miffed. “Chill your tits. It’s just a cake, Gidge.”

“It’s not just a cake. It’s THE cake! Do you have any idea how much time and devotion went into that pudding? It was supposed to be for Christmas dinner. It’s taken six months of pain-staking preparation and you’ve just ruined it!”

Bridget rarely flipped-out and so Franky paid attention when she did. 

“Gidge!” she called helplessly as the blonde stormed off.

Franky sighed and glanced at what was left of the devoured Christmas Pudding, which seemed to stare back at her in judgement.

Great. It was Christmas Day and they weren’t talking. Absolutely fucking perfect. This was turning into Franky’s usual Christmas.

Franky sat sulkily on the sofa trying desperately to think of an ‘in’. This was their first Christmas together: she doesn’t want to spend it bickering. As she wracked her brains for an ice breaker she heard a deafening crash.

Franky jumped to her feet and raced towards the bathroom; where the crash had emulated. 

Bridget was sprawled on the floor, gripping her ankle in agony. She’d taken a shower and had forgotten to put down a mat in her fury and had slipped on the wet tiled floor when getting out. 

Franky crouched beside her. “You okay?” she asked, full of concern.

Bridget glared at her. “Do I look okay?” she snapped.

Instinctively Franky rubbed Bridget’s back. “No, but a foul temper isn’t an indication of broken bones.”

Bridget sighed. She wanted to hold onto her anger but the worry and care in Franky’s face was beginning to thaw her resolve, and her ankle really did hurt. The throbbing was unbearable.

Franky hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later with a bag of ice wrapped in a kitchen towel and pressed it to Bridget’s injured ankle. Gidge winced and Franky looked apologetic.

She pulled Bridget’s dressing gown, hanging on the back of the bathroom door, off the hook, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then reached down, scooped Bridget into her arms and carried her to the sofa. She gently placed her down and fetched several cushions, using them to elevate Bridget’s injured leg.

Bridget’s temper dissipated as Franky fussed and fretted around her. Her hard gaze softened to one of affection. 

Gidge reached out and took Franky’s hand, feeling repentant. Franky stilled, she met Bridget’s eyes, her own filled with hope. Bridget offered a warm smile in return.

“I’m forgiven?” Franky guessed.

Bridget nodded. “You might be an inconsiderate bum at times but you’re my inconsiderate bum.”

Franky grinned. “You sure know how to boost a girl’s morale, Gidge.”

“Come here,” Bridget ordered and tugged Franky down onto the sofa. 

Franky sat alongside her. “I really am sorry about the pudding,” she apologised sincerely.

“I know,” Bridget murmured, her arms snaking around Franky’s neck, her eyes firmly on Franky’s lips.

“I’ll make one next year and you can eat all - ”

Bridget closed the distance between them and kissed Franky fiercely.

Franky wrapped her arms around Gidge and deepened the kiss. She sighed happily against Bridget’s mouth; maybe Christmas could be salvaged after all. Well, she had Bridget in her arms - so it was already the best Christmas on record.


	2. Valentine's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget plans the perfect Valentine's Day but an innocent mix-up leads to an unfortunate misunderstanding.

Bridget insisted that Franky keep her eyes closed. The brunette was practically bouncing up-and-down in the passenger seat as they pulled into their destination. Bridget had planned Valentine’s Day down to every miniscule detail. Franky had been driven mad guessing all week and given absolutely no fuckin’ clues. She’d begged, cajoled, attempted bribery, used all her wiles and still Gidge had shown no mercy.

Bridget opened the passenger door, took Franky’s hand and helped her out of the car. Gently, she guided her girlfriend forward, her hands covering Franky’s eyes. Franky could hear a deafening roar and the screech of tyres; the suspense was killing her. She felt like a kid with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. 

“Okay, you can look,” Bridget said in Franky’s ear and dropped her hands away.

Franky blinked several times as her eyes refocused and a Cheshire grin spread across her face.

They were stood outside the Calder Park racetrack, renowned for its three racing circuits, each with a different layout featuring a mix of technical corners and long straights.

Bridget had wanted to give Franky something special for Valentines, not just the usual hearts and flowers. Her inner biker chick had screamed out when she’d spotted this on a website for ‘Unique Experiences’. As soon as she’d seen the ad for a day of racing fancy cars (including a photo op) she knew it was ideal. With Franky’s words echoing in her head; _I wanna be picked up by a hot girl in a hot car and driven off into the sunset,_ she’d booked it immediately.

The day consisted of driving four of the world’s supercars – she’d picked a Ferraris, a Lamborghini, an Aston Martin and a Porsche from an impossibly long list. 

Franky’s expression was one of joyous disbelief and excitement. “Oh my god! If I didn’t already love ya Gidge – I absolutely would now!” Franky turned to face Bridget, her eyes glimmering, smile brighter than the sun. She cupped Bridget’s face and kissed her sweetly. “Thank you.”

Bridget beamed. “We’re booked for the whole afternoon.”

Franky snagged Bridget’s arm and pulled her towards the main entrance. “No time to waste then!”

They spent an adrenaline-packed afternoon whizzing round an asphalt racetrack. Franky driving, Bridget in the passenger seat. Both shrieking with delight as they made numerous laps around the course at a ridiculous speed. The growl of the engine filled their ears and wind billowed through their hair.

For the photo op they struck gangsta poses as they leaned against the bonnet of the Porsche, then collapsed into giggles. 

Franky’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much; she’d never had someone know her so well or be so attentive. The glow shone every time she looked at Bridget.

*****************

When they got home they showered and changed. Franky sported her usual fare – jeans and a white tank top, until she saw Gidge step out of the bedroom wearing a slinky red number. The gown was floor length with a plunging neckline and an indecent slit up the thigh that flashed Bridget’s shapely leg every time she took a step. Franky’s tongue literally dropped out of her mouth. By the time she regained her senses, she felt underdressed.

“Should I change?” she asked weakly.

Bridget eyed her up-and-down. Franky’s body tingled under the intense gaze.

“I think you look stunning,” Bridget murmured, circling her arms around Franky’s waist and leaning in close. “But for the purposes of tonight – you might want to get a bit more dressy.”  


Franky slid her hands down Bridget’s arms, gripped Bridget’s hands and squeezed. “Will do.”

The brunette quickly changed into a lavender halter neck dress. It’s the first frock Franky’s owned in 15 years. She’d only just bought it (she’d needed something fancy for a work do) and from the sinfully appreciative look Bridget gave her after she’d put it on, she decided she might throw on formal wear more often.

Their taxi arrived and they headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a French restaurant. _L'amour._ It looked swanky and pricey and for a moment Franky felt out-of-place. Bridget seemed to sense this and took Franky’s hand, instilling her with the confidence she lacked. 

The whole restaurant screamed refinement; a plush and elegant décor, from the crisp white tablecloths to the warm wooden floors and red brick panelling. Lavish paintings by a local artist decorated the walls. The soft lighting and romantic string music playing gently in the background leant it an intimate atmosphere.

Bridget told the maître d’ they had a table booked for 7.30pm. He checked their reservation, smiled welcomingly and led them to their table. It was tucked away in a cosy alcove, affording them privacy. 

The place was full of loved-up couples and when they took their seats, Franky felt herself start to relax. She was with her girl and had spent all day doing something she loved, now she wanted to reciprocate the gesture. Show Gidge just how important she was to her.

They browsed the menu while the waiter left to fetch them a jug of iced water.

“It all looks delicious,” Gidget said, her mouth-watering as her eyes skimmed over the various dishes.

Franky scowled at the names of the dishes, which were all written in French, as if that would magically translate them into English. “Do they have roast lamb?” she asked.

“Yeah, here.” Bridget pointed to an item on Franky’s menu. “Le Gigot d'Agneau. Served with pale green beans and potatoes.”

“That’ll do me,” Doyle stated and set her menu to one side.

“Philistine!” Bridget teased.

“I’m a woman of simple tastes. Give me meat and two veg and I’m a happy girl.”

“You’ve got no joie de vivre!” Bridget joked.

“I’ve got plenty! If anything I’ve got too much vivre!” Franky retorted, earning a laugh from Bridget.

The waiter returned, placed a jug of water laced with mint and cucumber on the table, then stood poised with his pencil and pad.

“Are you ready to order?”

They nodded.

Bridget took the initiative and ordered for both of them; Franky almost salivated as Gidge spoke fluent French. She rolled her r’s expertly and Franky tried not to imagine what else Gidge could do with that talented tongue. 

The waiter collected their menus and disappeared into the kitchen with their order. 

Bridget seemed to read Franky’s mind and swatted her knee under the table.

“What?!” Franky exclaimed innocently.

“You know what!” Bridget reprimanded playfully.

“Can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind, Gidge.”

Franky lifted the water jug, filling Bridget’s glass and then her own. The sleek muscle of Franky’s bare arm flexed as she poured and Bridget’s heart lost its footing. When Franky settled the jug back on the table she glanced at her girlfriend, a cheeky grin on her face. Bridget’s breath caught. There was something so abundantly sexy about that look, that mischievous smile. An intensity she’s never felt with anyone else. 

Bridget returned the smile roguishly. Heat radiated through her body and she sipped her water. The candlelight flickered. Franky’s eyes glimmered. Bridget licked her lips.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of their appetizers. The food was so beautifully arranged on the plate that they almost felt guilty for eating it. But they did and their taste buds instantly exploded in a wonderful medley of culinary flavours. 

Franky’s whole body reacted to the food; even her toes tingled. “We’re coming here again!” She enthused and scooped another hors d’oeuvre into her mouth, her eyes falling shut in gastronomic bliss.

They thoroughly enjoyed their meal; savouring every bite. The conversation was light and flirty. Lots of longing looks, teasing smiles and seductive raises of the eyebrow peppered with the occasional caress of hands and the accidental brush of ankles under the table.

By the time dessert arrived they were humming with anticipation and the promise of what awaited when they got home. 

As the waiter set their desserts down he winked conspiratorially at Bridget. She was thrown for a moment, wondering what that was about. He grinned and headed off to another table.  


They tucked into their puddings. She had chocolate soufflé, Franky had gone for La Fraise, a luxurious strawberry and lemon verbena cake.

Franky was relishing her third mouthful of cake when she bit down on something solid and winced. She lowered her spoon and removed the foreign object from her mouth; it was a plain gold wedding band. 

Her eyes widened and then shot to Bridget.

Bridget’s heart froze. 

Franky’s eyes flashed. Struck speechless she held up the ring. It glistened in the candlelight.

Bridget opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her heart shifted gear and was now racing wildly.

Their eyes met.

Franky shuffled uncomfortably and averted her eyes.

Bridget felt something ugly unfurl in the pit of her stomach.

Franky’s expression clouded and her lips started to form the word; “No.”

Suddenly a waiter rushed towards them, looking panicked.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed and snatched the ring out of Franky’s hand. “There was a mix-up in the kitchen with the desserts. This was meant for table 5.”

He hurried off and, apologetically, presented it to table 5, where a young disgruntled couple sat. The man looked angry while his dinner companion looked upset at having her big moment ruined.

Turning her attention away from them, Franky’s face suddenly sank and Bridget exhaled sharply. 

There was a long awkward pause as Franky realised Bridget hadn’t proposed and Bridget realised Franky would have said no, had she asked.

The blonde took a sip of her water; for fortitude. Franky looked anywhere but at her girlfriend.

The soft strings of the violin music continued to serenade them but they suddenly felt displaced and impatient to leave.

They’ve been together for 18 months. It was enough time for Bridget to know she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Franky. Evidently Franky didn’t feel the same; her doubt had been as clear as a flare in the night sky.

“I’ll get the bill,” Bridget said coolly. 

Bridget got to her feet and headed towards the bar, where several waiting staff were gathered. 

She hadn’t wanted to get married but the knowledge that Franky would have turned her down stung. She scolded herself – she’s too sensible to be hurt or disappointed by this. It was a simple misunderstanding, a mistake by a careless waiter, but it had led to a very real and stark consequence: Franky’s refusal. That had been real and Bridget’s heart withered a little at the rejection. Moreover, it threw up all kinds of questions. Did Franky view what they had as ephemeral? Was she waiting for something better to come along? Was she just killing time?

Left alone and feeling embarrassed, Franky pushed her dessert away. She’d lost her appetite. In fact, she felt quite sick. The crushed look on Bridget’s face had been gut-wrenching.  


Tonight had gone from perfect to disastrous. The whole evening felt tainted. She cursed the stupid waiter who had put the stupid ring in the wrong stupid pudding.

When Bridget returned to the table they couldn’t look at each other. “There’s a taxi for us outside,” she informed Franky stiltedly.

Wordlessly they gathered their things and headed for the exit. The waiter who had committed the transgression and wrecked their evening held the door open for them, looking sheepish, and Franky hoped that Bridget hadn’t left a tip.

In the back of the taxi the silence lingered. They sat on opposite sides, staring out their respective windows as the town rolled past and the hostile tension built, hovering over them.  


When Bridget opened the front door of the house and led the way in, flicking the lights on as she did so, Franky remained reticent. 

Bridget moved into the bedroom and as she undressed, her back to Franky, Franky ducked into the bathroom. Gidget shed her clothes and pulled on pyjamas. Embracing the shadows she slipped into bed, glad to hide her face for a moment and collect her thoughts. 

In the bathroom Franky removed her make-up, brushed her teeth and changed into her nightie – dragging it out, taking as long as she could to avoid returning to the uneasy atmosphere she knew awaited her in the bedroom. 

Unable to put it off any longer, Franky switched off the light and stepped out of the bathroom. She walked into the bedroom and slid in beside Bridget.  


They lay in bed. Together but miles apart. Their breathing the only sound.

Bridget felt as if her heart was on fire. She didn’t know what to do. Clearly their relationship wasn’t as stable as she’d thought. Clearly they had a lot to talk about. Clearly they wanted different things. She was filled with the fear that if they talked about it - this might end, that Franky might leave her.

They both stared into the darkness. The vast silence filled the room and hung between them like a barrier.

Franky felt a right drongo. Instinctively she’d been about to say ‘no’ to marriage when Bridget hadn’t even asked for that commitment, hadn’t wanted to entwine their lives together forever. It hadn’t even crossed Bridget’s mind. Which worried Franky because when she thought about it there was nothing she’d like more. But no – she’d put the kibosh on it because she always reacted before thinking. Always let insecurity get the better of her; it was a knee-jerk reaction.

The prolonged silence was torture.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Franky finally ventured.

Bridget tensed. “Let’s just sleep. It’s been a long day. We’re both tired. We might say something we don’t mean.”

Bridget turned her back to Franky and tucked her hands under her pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing there was no chance of sleep tonight. Her stomach was in knots and her mind racing.

 _So much for ending the night with hot passionate sex,_ Franky thought ruefully. She studied Bridget’s back and sighed. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong.”

Bridget turned over, now facing her. “What?”

Franky held Bridget’s eye. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Then why were you about to say no?”

Franky exhaled slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Everything between us is so good. I just… didn’t want to change it, spoil it. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Bridget said softly.

Franky stroked Bridget’s hair behind her ear. “I’m yours till we’re old and grey and sharing dentures. Isn’t that enough?”

Bridget inched closer to Franky. “What if… I did want more?”

“Do you?”

“Maybe.”

“You want the whole kit-and-caboodle? You never struck me as a traditionalist Gidge.”

“I’m not but there’s something nice about the idea of standing in front of our family and friends, declaring our love, choosing each other and sharing our happiness. Don’t you think?” she murmured.

“When you put it like that… it sounds like a cheesy made-for-TV-movie - but yeah, it does sound kinda nice.”

They gazed at each other and shared a tentative smile.

“I want to be with you,” Franky said solemnly. “I’ll do whatever it takes. So if marriage is what you want… then we should defo discuss it.”

Bridget reached out and tangled her fingers with Franky’s. “I just want to know it’s not off the table. We don’t have to decide anything now. There’s no rush.”

Franky raised her eyebrows in amusement. “Are you trying to back out now you’ve talked me into it?!” 

“No!”

Franky grinned. “Yes you are you sneaky little minx!” She tugged Bridget closer. “It’s too late Gidge, I’m all for it now. How about a summer wedding on the beach?”  


Bridget laughed. “You would want a beach wedding!”

“Any excuse to ogle you in a bikini! But it would have to be white - obvs,” Franky teased.

Bridget whacked Doyle’s arm playfully. “Like I’d wear a bikini to my wedding.”

“And I’ll be decked out in a leather tux, wearing my lucky undies. Oh - we could hire one of those old leso bands you like! Yeah – I can picture it now. You walking down the aisle to _I Touch Myself_ and instead of rings we’ll getting matching tats and Tess can be our flower girl and - ”

Bridget stopped Franky’s mouth with her own.

Franky’s left hand dug into Bridget’s hip while her right gripped the hem of Bridget’s pyjama top, sliding it up, her fingers skimming across the exposed flesh. She felt Bridget shiver.  


Suddenly everything seemed clear. The tension dissolved; they were in sync again and the relief was immense. 

Bridget drew back from the kiss, feeling heady. “Is that a proposal?”

“What if it is?” Franky asked with a note of seriousness. Her fingertips tracing Bridget’s spine.

Bridget shivered again and smiled. She wrapped her arms around Franky’s neck, gently rubbed her nose against Franky’s and murmured against her lips; “I’d say it’s about bloody time you made an honest woman of me,” then pulled her in for another heated kiss.


	3. Weekend Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky and Bridget decide to getaway for a romantic weekend. Their plans quickly go awry.

In the stuffy baggage collection lounge of _Gold Coast Airport_ , Franky and Bridget watched the luggage conveyor belt go round with sinking hearts. Bridget’s suitcase had yet to materialise. They’d been there over an hour, staring vainly at the baggage carousel, and their tempers were on the verge of flaring up. They’d had a difficult flight; a bratty kid had sat behind them shrieking and kicking Bridget’s chair and playing a computer game at full volume throughout the entire flight. In front, a bickering couple in their 60’s who had been together for too long as far as Franky was concerned (and had been tempted to tell them) argued about which one of them was responsible for having forgotten to pack the birthday present for their third (and favourite) grandchild.

They were tired, grimy, hot, tetchy and hungry (the food on the plane hadn’t been edible. Or identifiable. It was a beige square that had the constitution of jelly. Every time Franky had tried to put her spoon into it, it had been repelled and the beige square quivered defiantly. Franky suspected if it was sent to a crime lab, even they wouldn’t be able to decipher what it was).

The day, which had begun with great expectation, had taken a nosedive and their earlier excitement had completely fizzled out.

They needed this break. Between Franky working long hours at _Legal Relief_ and Bridget’s hectic schedule at _Wentworth_ , they never seemed to spend any time together. So they’d decided a romantic weekend getaway was just what they needed. To wind-down, spend some quality time together and rekindle the romance.

Franky had gone online and found the ideal haven; _Rainforest Retreat_ in Crystal Creek. Up in the mountains, secluded, romantic cabins surrounded by rainforest with nearby trails leading to river gorges, lush rolling countryside, quaint townships and several beaches.

Bridget had snuggled-up to Franky on the sofa, her chin resting on Franky’s shoulder as they read the retreat’s description on Franky’s laptop. 

“Ooh - each cabin has a hot tub, a fireplace in the bedroom and glass walls allowing you to see stunning rainforest views from every room. Sign me up!”

Franky angled her head, to meet Bridget’s eye. “If I have my way you’ll be too occupied to appreciate the views.”

The blonde smirked. “And if I have my way we’ll make very good use of that hot tub!”

Franky grinned. “You’re one classy chick, Gidge.”

Bridget laughed softly and rested her head against Franky’s shoulder. “Any more cheek from you and you’ll be entertaining yourself all weekend, solo, if you know what I mean.”  


Now, as they stand in the airport, watching the empty baggage carousel go round, Franky made an executive decision. She turned to Bridget. “They’ve lost your suitcase. Time to accept it and move on,” she stated.

Bridget, whose cheeks were flushed with heat and whose skin was covered in a sheen of gritty sweat, let out a frustrated sigh. She nodded, conceding defeat.

They headed over to the baggage service counter. Franky smiled at Hank, the spotty teenager in charge. They’d already had several discussions with him in the last half hour regarding their vanished luggage. 

He greeted them with an optimistic smile. “Still no luck?”

Franky shook her head.

He leaned forward, tapped something into his computer, and then looked back at her. “They’ve unloaded all the luggage from your flight. If it’s not there then…” he shrugged helplessly.

So they put in a lost luggage report and then headed to the car rental booth.

Bridget’s mood was sour. Franky gently bumped her shoulder. “You can borrow my gear, Gidge.”

Despite the sweet gesture, Bridget remained downcast. “Thanks.”

Franky gave her an impish look. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t plan on either of us wearing much this weekend.” 

When her mood didn’t improve, Bridget felt guilty for ruining what was should have been a happy vacation; “It’s just put a bit of a dampener on the weekend. I packed my best dress and those sandals I’d just bought. The expensive towels and my favourite negligee,” she explained.

“And my lucky undies,” Franky informed her, crestfallen. She’d snuck them into Bridget’s case when hers was full to brimming.

Bridget blinked, then gazed at Franky. “After this, think we’ll have to rename them your ‘unlucky’ undies.”

Franky tried to sound reassuring as she said; “If your case hasn’t turned-up here, chances are they put it on the wrong flight. You might still get it back, once we’re home.”

Bridget gave her a doubtful look.

They reached the car rental cubicle and thankfully, things went smoothly. They signed a form, flashed their driver’s licences’ and collected the keys.

The scruffy but reliable looking blue Fiat was parked nearby. Franky slung her suitcase in the boot and they clambered in and headed off to the cabin.

Bridget had the map and address. She’d grown very quiet; only speaking when the directions dictated. Franky tried to lift her mood by staying chatty and upbeat. She tuned into _Smooth_ radio station – one of Bridget’s favourites. As Perry Como crooned his way through the catchy _Papa Loves Mumba_ Bridget demeanour began to lighten.

By the time they reached the cabin she’d stopped dwelling on the trauma of their journey and instead was focused on the weekend ahead; the romantic walks, the amorous nights snuggled-up in front of the rustic fireplace, soaking in the hot tub, having meals on the balcony overlooking the wondrous mountainside view.

The car twisted and turned on a dirt road, travelling higher into the mountains. They gazed out of the window, enraptured by nature and its spectacular views. An expanse of rainforest unfolded before them. The sun had started to set, the sky streamed with vibrant colours and as it darkened to black - the evening was lit by fireflies. A sea of bright lights – like a thousand stars had fallen from the sky and landed in the treetops. The peaks of the mountains were framed by moonlight and there was a startling silence that came from being miles from civilisation.

Franky slowed the car as they approached the cabin. She pulled into the drive and she and Bridget stared at their weekend hideaway; caught in the bright beams of the car’s headlights. Both their jaws dropped. Their idyllic cabin was a hovel. So far removed from the pictures they’d seen on the internet it was a joke. 

Bridget blinked in disbelief. She turned to Franky. “I’m not hallucinating right?”

Slowly Franky shook her head. “No. It’s a shithole.” 

They got out of the car and moved cautiously towards the tumbledown building which had, they later discovered, been an abattoir. 

Franky had picked-up the keys from the agent in _Clayton_. She slipped the key in the lock and the door swung creakily open. The cabin had a ramshackle, gloomy atmosphere and they were met with the distinct smell of must. Bridget placed her palm against Franky’s back, as if making sure she was there - making sure this wasn’t a dream.  


Franky stepped into the shadows and groped for a light switch. Eventually she found it and flicked it on. The hall flooded with light.

They moved into the cabin. It was cosy but ramshackle. One bedroom with an en suite bathroom, a kitchen, lounge and a fair sized hot tub on rickety decking that was filled with lizards and black scorpions.

Franky’s face fell. So much for a romantic retreat. Condemned was more like it. But something happened to Bridget; her back bristled and a resolve overtook her. “Right. That’s it!” she exclaimed. She said it so forcefully that Franky turned to her with alarm. “We’re driving to the nearest town, buying cleaning products and I am going to sort this cabin out. We are going to have the romantic getaway we planned even if it kills me!”

Franky met her girlfriends determined gaze and her tiredness faded. She suddenly felt rejuvenated and inspired.

They got back in the car and drove to the nearest town where they stocked-up on food supplies, cleaning products and then headed back to the cabin.

Franky threw together a meal while Bridget started dusting and cleaning. 

As Bridget attacked the hot tub with vim; scooping and rehousing the wildlife, then scrubbing it within an inch of its life - Franky unpacked and made-up the king sized bed. The room overlooked the rainforest. The entire wall on one side was glass. She’s sure, in the morning, it would look stunning. Right now all she could see was blackness.

They sat in bed and ate the spaghetti bolognaise she'd prepared (Franky had gone for something simple and high-in-energy given Gidget’s cleaning work-out), gazing out at the view, now obscured by darkness. After eating they crawled under the covers, their bowls discarded on the bedside table.

Franky had planned on their first night in the cabin being memorable; sweaty, passionate sex had been her goal but her weary arm curled around Bridget, pulling her close, too tired to do anything other than kiss the top of her head. Bridget snuggled close, hooking her leg over Franky’s. They immediately fell asleep; completely bushed.

***********

In the morning they were awoken by the sunlight streaming into the room and were instantly greeted by the magnificent scenic view. A clear blue sky, the rolling greenery of the hills and snowy peaks of the mountains.

Bridget walked about in a borrowed pair of Franky’s boxer shorts and a white tank top. She felt like a boxer about to go into the ring. Franky looked sexy as hell in this getup but the blonde just felt uncomfortable.

She went into the kitchen to make them tea and saw that an invasion of ants had attacked the food they’d left out. In annoyance she scooped it up and chucked it in the bin. 

Fortunately, everything in the fridge was safe and untouched. She made them tea and toast and headed back to the bedroom.

“What do you want to do today? Seems a shame to waste that view,” Bridget said as she handed Franky her mug of tea.

Doyle nodded. “There’s a bike hire nearby. Could do that, then we can come back and take advantage of our sparkling hot tub!”

Bridget grinned. She sat crossed-legged on the bed beside Franky and leaned forward, planting a kiss on the brunette. “Sounds lovely.”

So they showered and dressed, then set out.

They hired mountain bikes and took a track that lead them to _Gibbonsville_ , up in the mountains, alongside a creek. As they cycled through the forestry, the magnificence of the scenery made Bridget’s heart expand. The sun broke through the treetops and shimmered on the water’s surface, there was a gentle babbling as the stream manoeuvred around rocks. She heard bird song and breathed in deeply; her lungs full of fresh air. She was sharing this profound experience with Franky, the love of her life, and she wanted to say something to mark the occasion. So when they stopped for a breather at an inlet, shaded by a row of ancient Cedar trees, overlooking the creek, she met Franky’s eyes, her own shinning. She reached for Franky’s hand and squeezed her fingers. 

Bridget opened her mouth but before she could speak the tranquillity of the moment was interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of a brass band playing _When the Saints Go Marching In._

They exchanged a baffled look, not realising they were within spitting distance of the town and had come out at the back of _Gibbon’s Park_. Where a Victorian style bandstand proudly stood and welcomed _The Gold Coast Brass Band Festival_ every year. 

When they turned, they could see through a cluster of trees the railings of the park, picnic area and families sat about, facing the bandstand. 

Franky smirked and Bridget rolled her eyes. They quickly moved on but their humour was short-lived. For, unfortunately, at every twist of the path and inlet they stopped at to find privacy, their ears were assaulted by blaring trombones and boisterous Tuba’s.

They soon came upon a small shop on the boarder of _Gibbonsville_ full of tourist tat. While Bridget was browsing postcards, Franky was trying on baseball caps that said pointless shit like _I Heart Gibbonsville_ and _My Brass Band is Better Than Your Brass Band_. It wasn’t until they stood at the check-out to pay that Franky realised she’d misplaced her wallet. She’d thought it was in her back pocket. When she couldn’t find it she started to pat down her other pockets… just then her eyes alighted on a sign behind the till that warned of pick-pockets operating in the area and sighed. _Of course,_ she thought balefully. 

All her holiday money was gone in one fell swoop. $150 dollars. $150 hard-earned dollars. More inconveniently, she’d have to cancel her bank cards and replace everything else in her wallet – travel pass, drivers licence, work ID, library card. It was yet another frustrating annoyance marring their holiday.

Luckily Bridget had been spared and paid for their goods while Franky cursed under her breath. 

When they got outside Franky shook her head glumly. “Could this day get any better?” she joked.

They stopped when they reached their bikes. Franky’s had a flat tyre.

“Spoke too soon,” Franky mumbled. She didn’t have the energy left to be angry. Instead she let out a raucous laugh.

Bridget put the bag she was carrying over her bike’s handlebars. She turned to her girlfriend, slipped her arms around her neck and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “We’ll get a taxi back.”

“Sure, knowing our luck he’ll be related to Ted Bundy and all they’ll find of us is a flat bike tyre and this shit hat!” she exclaimed and pointed to the _My Brass Band is Better Than Your Brass Band_ baseball cap she was sporting.

Bridget grinned. “I love you, you know that?!” Franky wound her arms around the blonde’s waist as Bridget kissed her again. “Even the bad times are fun with you!”

Franky playfully tapped Bridget’s backside. “Save that thought – I’ve gotta cancel my bank cards before I get charged for a 60 inch flat-screen TV I didn’t buy.”

**************

Later that evening, Bridget lay in the hot tub. Eyes closed, the bubbles pleasantly massaging her taut muscles which relaxed under their pressure. It had been a long day.

Franky, clad in a plain black swimsuit, stepped out onto the patio with two champagne flutes. She set the drinks down by the hot tub and then climbed in. Bridget opened her eyes and gazed up at Franky, a seductive smile playing on her lips. Franky slipped into the water and glided towards Bridget. She manoeuvred so that she sat between Bridget’s legs, her back pressed against Gidge’s front. They both sighed and Franky instantly relaxed.

“What a day,” Frank exhaled, closing her eyes and allowing the soothing water to pummel her stressed muscles.

“Mmm,” the blonde replied, her head lolling back against the tub.

“Shit outta luck with my wallet. Just as well you could pay for everything.”

“Reminds me of an odd experience I had with the worst girlfriend I've ever had,” Bridget admitted.

Franky’s eyebrows raised in interest. “Do tell,” she encouraged.

Bridget laughed, low and gravelly. “I once dated a kleptomaniac.”

“Spill,” Franky ordered, already amused.

“Well, on the first date she stole a bouquet of flowers and gave them to me. I tried to make her go back and pay for them but she insisted the store owners were family friends and she’d reimburse them later.”

“And you bought that? Sucker.”

Bridget grinned. “I’m very trusting!”

Franky tilted her head up to look at her girlfriend. “How long did it last?”

“Came to a head at my parent’s wedding anniversary. She invited herself along. It was just a small affair - me, my parents and brother. I was cooking, so she went grocery shopping with me. When we got back to my flat I noticed her coat was bulging. When I confronted her she pulled a jar of olives, a box of chocolates, a 12 inch salami stick and a bottle of champagne out of her pockets.” 

“A salami stick?!” Franky quizzed.

Bridget shrugged. “I don’t even know how she fitted it in there! When I challenged her about her stealing she gave me some spiel about ‘sticking it to the man’. It was a nightmare. I didn’t see it working so I called it quits and asked her to leave. The next time I went back to the store they had it all on CCTV and I had to pay for everything she’d stolen. It was mortifying.”

Franky smirked. “Puts my misdemeanours into perspective!” 

Bridget slid her arms about Franky and whispered in her ear. “Oh, darling – no one compares to you. In any sphere.”

Franky knows Bridget’s teasing but she feels the breath pulled from her. Feels her focus narrow into only Gidge. She twists in the blonde’s arms, facing her, the water lapping and sloshing against the sides of the hot tub. Franky wrapped her arms around Gidget’s neck, pressing herself flush against the blonde. She felt Bridget’s pulse spike, heard her sharp intake of breath and captured her lips. The kiss was urgent; all lips and tongue. She felt the pressure of Bridget’s tongue meeting hers, the warmth and heat of her, the soft moan as Franky’s hands snuck into her hair.

She’d never made love in a hot tub before but as she slid her hand under the band of Bridget’s bikini bottoms she relished the combination of water, sleek skin and body heat. 

***********

The next day they decided to go on a hike. They elected to head for one of the beaches – Bridget had a love of water, having grown-up in a coastal town and Franky was happy to go anywhere as long as she was with Gidge.

They both sported jeans, T-Shirts and runners. Bridget had to roll-up the jeans she’d borrowed as she wasn’t as tall as Franky. 

They set off, hand-in-hand, strolling downhill, enjoying the views and the seclusion. It was breath-taking. The hike gradually became steeper and the terrain more slippery. After forty minutes Franky had to stop because she felt something squishing in her shoe. 

She removed her trainer and stared in shock at her left foot. A fat leech was suckered onto her ankle. She glanced up at Bridget, wide-eyed.

“What do I do?” she entreated.

“Let it have its fill and it’ll drop off in 20 mins.”

Franky looked horror-struck. “Let’s call that plan B!”

Bridget stepped forward. “Okay, you can also locate the sucker and - ”

“Ew!” Doyle exclaimed.

“Get a grip,” Bridget chided. “Leeches are basically worms.”

Franky’s lips thinned in displeasure. “Yeah – vampire worms.” 

Bridget crouched down and inspected the leech attached to her.

“Stay still,” Gidge warned. She used her left hand to gently pull the skin near the sucker taught, then placed her other hand next to the leech and slid her fingernail underneath the sucker - flicking it off quickly. Franky let out her breath and shivered with disgust. She quickly put her runner back on.

“Nothin’ screams romance like de-leeching each other! I think we should just rename this place _Painforest Retreat_ ,” Franky derided.

Bridget smiled. “Let’s just say _TripAdvisor_ are going to hear _all_ about this vacation when we get back!”

Franky laughed and slipped her arm round Bridget, gently tugging her into a half-hug. 

They continued their journey down to the beach, very careful of where they placed their feet.

When they reached _Byron’s Bay_ at midmorning they strolled through the beach markets to reach _Fisherman’s Lookout_. The town, formerly a whaling station, was now a tourist hotspot. It had a bohemian vibe they both enjoyed; laid-back and hippyish. It had more vegetarian restaurants than you could shake a stick at. Women clad in sarongs and not much else sauntered the streets while long-haired blokes played didgeridoos in the park. 

They climbed the steps to _Fisherman’s Lookout_ and gazed out at the sea – crystal topaz waves lapping inshore, the air fresh and crisp. They both breathed it in. Bridget slipped her arm through Franky’s as they leaned on a rail, looking out to sea. Gulls circled above them, cawing. They watched the wind and kite surfers and kayakers with fascination. The odd fisherman’s rig going past and the occasional school of bottleneck dolphin’s surfacing.

Franky excitedly pointed to something in the distance. “Look Gidge!” 

Bridget squinted and made out the shape of a Humpback Whale. They watched it rise to the surface, blow out water and then dive back under the waves. It was a spectacular moment they’d never forget. Franky turned to Bridget, her eyes wide with wonder.

Just then a bellowing trombone disrupted the moment as a brass band began their rowdy rendition of _When The Saints Go Marching In_. Bridget’s eyes snapped shut. She took a deep breath. If she heard that bloody song one more time she wouldn’t be accountable for her actions! 

Sensing her exasperation, Franky clasped her hand. Bridget’s eyes opened and Franky quickly lead her back down the stairs and onto the beach. Away from the racket of the brass band.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering. They perused _The Lone Goat Gallery_ in the Byron Library complex, a community gallery which displayed local artists work and visiting guests. The artwork wasn’t to Franky’s taste (a bunch of pretentious bullshit in her humble opinion) but entry was free so she couldn’t really complain and Bridget seemed enthralled. The blonde even got into a lively discussion about post-modern art with the artist whose exhibit was being displayed. 

Franky stopped in front of a giant rock that had been painted florescent blue with streaks of orange dripping down it (as if the artist had sneezed whilst painting) and splodges of green that looked like disfigured sticks of broccoli. She stared at it – trying to make sense of it. Then read the description plaque beneath; _In this piece entitled ‘Essence’, artist Bree Hauffman captures the conflict between nature and a manmade environment. Courting controversy her work explores the artificiality of modern life using a canvas provided by Mother Nature._

“Bollocks,” Franky muttered.

Bridget moved beside her. “Are you disparaging the artwork?” she teased.

Franky cocked her head to the side. “If you can call it artwork, then yeah.”

Bridget studied the colourful rock, seeming to find a hidden beauty to it. “Do you know why this place is called _The Lone Goat Gallery_?”

Turning to her girlfriend, Franky said apprehensively; “No but I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“There used to be a heard of goats that roamed the _Cape Byron_ headland. The last surviving goat had a strong independent spirit – which the locals see as a fitting parallel to the creative and free spirited individuals that make up this community.”

Franky raised her eyebrows. “So what you’re saying is – locals are using that poor goat as an excuse to produce crappy art?”

Bridge scrunched-up her nose. “Remind me why I’m dating you?”

Franky leaned forward and kissed Bridget briefly. “Because I’m awesome in the sack!”

Bridget snorted. “There is that!”

Franky slipped her hand into Bridget’s and gently tugged her towards the exit. “Let’s go, this place is giving me a headache.”

They grabbed some lunch at a nearby café, then ambled their way to _Cape Byron Lighthouse_. The cliff-top panoramic view was dazzling and Franky felt her skin tingle as the sun set – bathing the sky in oranges and pinks and violets. Bridget wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist, pressed her chin into the crook of Franky’s shoulder and they breathed-in the moment. Silently grateful that no brass band had started-up to spoil the moment, for once.

**********

When they got back to the cabin, Franky started dinner while Bridget set about lighting a fire in the bedroom. Doyle was half-way through peeling potatoes when the electricity went out and the whole cabin was plunged into darkness.

Bridget moved towards her, using the light from her mobile phone to guide her. 

They traced their steps to the fuse box in the hallway by the front door. Bridget grabbed a stool and Franky stepped on it to be eye-level with the fuse box. She flipped the switches back on.

As the cabin flooded with light they smiled at each other. Bridget held out her hand, Franky took it and stepped down from the stool. As they moved back towards the kitchen, the lights went out again.

“For fuck sake!” Franky exclaimed.

They returned to the fuse box to find it had shorted again. Franky flipped the switches back on – the cabin burst into life again but it only lasted momentarily. They repeated this pattern several times and, on the fifth attempt, when they were thrust into complete darkness, they decided it was probably something serious and not worth getting electrocuted over.  


Bridget called the emergency number for the Rainforest Retreat on her mobile. When she managed to get though, the call kept dropping out - the signal was awful. Eventually the _Rainforest Retreat_ staff promised to send out an electrician within the hour to fix the problem. 

When Bridget hung-up, Franky was annoyed. “Great – our last night and we get to spend it waiting-in for an electrician.”

Bridget shrugged. “It’s either that or we pretend we’re in Jane Austen times and do everything by candlelight.”

Franky sighed. She continued peeling potatoes but wouldn’t be able to use the cooker until the electricity had been restored.

They soon heard a rap at the door. Gareth, the local electrician, was very affable and apologetic. He moved about the cabin expertly and swiftly. He soon discovered that the power loss was due to a feature light outside. There was a Cedar tree by the hot tub which lit-up at night - the light was broken and when Bridget had tried to turn it on earlier, it had short-circuited the electricity.

“Unfortunately I can’t fix the problem now. I’ll have to order a part that won’t get here till next week,” he informed them. 

Franky shook her head. “Too late for us, mate. Maybe the next couple will enjoy it.”

He smiled, reveal a missing front tooth. “Soz about that. I’ve unplugged the tree feature so the power shouldn’t cut out again. Hope you folks have a good stay.”

Bridget saw him to the door and waved him goodbye. Then moved back towards the kitchen where Franky had now put the potatoes on. She leaned against the door frame, her arms folded across her chest, her feet crossed at the ankle.

“I’m almost afraid to fall asleep tonight. What other catastrophe might befall this place while we’re unconscious?!”

Franky smiled. “At least if we die in our sleep it’ll be peaceful!”

They sat in bed to eat their dinner again. Their backs pressed against the headboard, their legs stretched out in front of them, plates balanced on their laps. Sipping wine.  


“I’m sorry it’s been such a disaster,” Franky apologised, disappointed as much as she was embarrassed at dragging Gidge to this godforsaken shack.

Bridget looked at her, her expression soft, her voice full of fondness. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just wanted this weekend to be perfect you know? And so far it’s been…” she searched for the right word.

“Memorable,” Bridget chimed.

They both laughed. 

“It’s certainly been that!” 

Bridget nudged her shoulder. “I’ve got an idea… and we don’t even need electricity for it. In fact, it helps if the lights are out…” 

She took both their plates and put them on the bedside table, then gently slid the strap of Franky’s top down her arm and followed it with her mouth, trailing hot, soft kisses across Franky’s skin.

Franky sighed contentedly. Blindly, she reached for the lamp and switched it off. The room was thrown into darkness, lit only by the flicker of the fire in the hearth.  


They sunk down in the bed together, Bridget pressing her hips down into Franky’s and the brunette meeting the pressure. Bridget's hands stole into Franky’s dark tresses and tugged playfully as her lips searched and found Franky’s in the dark.

“You know,” Franky whispered in-between kisses. “Sometimes… you have… really good… ideas.”

Bridget grinned against Franky’s mouth and ran her hand down Franky’s side, then moved it between them. Franky let out a gentle moan as Bridget touched her intimately and Gidge whispered in her ear; “The odds were in my favour.”

***********

The next morning Franky stepped out of the cabin to put the rubbish out when she noticed the driveway was empty. She took a moment, then realised the blue Fiat hire car was gone. Her stomach dropped.

“Gidge!” she called, her voice high-pitched.

“What?” Bridget shouted from the bedroom.

“You didn’t park the car somewhere other than the drive, right?”

“No,” came Bridget’s confused tone. 

“In that case our car’s been stolen.”

Bridget rushed to her side and they both stared helplessly at the gap in the driveway.

“Well shit,” Bridget exclaimed breathlessly.

“Exactly.”

Franky almost felt absolved - as if this was inevitable. Since they’d started this holiday everything that could go wrong had – so of course their hire car would get nicked.  


They called the car hire company and explained the situation. Fortunately they were covered by the excessive insurance they’d had to fork out. Their flight was in three hours so the car hire company organized for a driver to pick them up and take them to the airport.

They packed-up their meagre belongings, swept over the cabin one last time and then solemnly climbed into the back of their car hire ride. Franky’s case on the backseat beside them; she wasn’t letting it out of her sight.

The journey to the airport was smooth but instead of relaxing them, it heightened the tension. They were on tenterhooks, waiting for the next disaster to befall them.  


Resignedly they waited for their flight in the departure lounge. Whenever the airport doors opened, allowing new arrivals to step in off the street, they were blasted with a gust of hot air and assaulted by the distinct melody of _When The Saints Go Marching In_ by a brass band but were too exhausted to react. 

Eventually, after a two hour delay, they boarded their plane and hoped they wouldn’t plummet out of the sky and crash and burn somewhere over the Australian Bush – never to be found. Franky nearly made a joke about it but didn’t want to tempt fate.

Bridget fell asleep on the flight, curled up to Franky, who watched a limp-plotted Hollywood movie that was instantly forgettable.

They arrived home safely but there was still a residual fog of misfortune about them. When they got back to the house they collapsed into bed. Wanting the day to be over but relieved to be home in one piece. Bridget set the alarm and they dozed off, arms wrapped around each other, bones and muscles weary and desperate for sleep.

***********

The following morning the alarm woke them. Franky switched it off and for a moment they lay there. Feeling like they had PTSD.

“Well that couldn’t have gone much worse,” Franky said, her voice husky from sleep.

“I’ve had more fun at the dentist,” Bridget agreed.

They both gazed up at the ceiling.

“You know what I’ve learned from all this?” Franky pondered.

Bridget shrugged. 

“If I’m going to hell, I want you as company.”

Bridget broke into a smile. She moved closer to Franky. “That’s so sweet.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes. She leaned in and pressed her lips to Franky’s, the kiss was long and slow.

***********

For the days following Bridget felt as if she needed a holiday to recover from their holiday. She booked the next weekend off and so did Franky. When Friday rolled around they unplugged the landline, switched off their mobiles and put away their laptops. If anyone wanted to reach them; they’d have to send a carrier pigeon.

They spent the weekend at home. Eating junk-food, watching old movies and lounging in bed. Later they went for a leech-free walk and took a dip in the sea, then watched the sunset from the loungers in the yard and held hands – it was perfection and completely disaster-free.

***********

 **Epilogue**

Six months later there was a knock at the front door. It was a Saturday and they were having a BBQ in the yard. Franky stood over the barbie, tongs in hand, wearing her chef’s hat and apron while Bridget went to answer the door. 

When she pulled it open, Bridget was met with a courier.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Hi,” he replied, his tone friendly as he handed her something to sign. When she’d done that he gave her a large envelope and quickly went on his way. 

Bridget shut the door and moved back towards the yard, ripping open the envelope as she walked through the house.

By the time she re-joined Franky she had prised the envelope open and found a note.

“What is it?” Franky asked curiously.

“It’s from the airline. They’ve located ‘part' of my luggage.”

“About time!” Franky exclaimed.

Bridget’s face fell as she pulled a single item from the envelope and held it up - to reveal a very distinctive pair of women's underpants. 

Franky’s eyes immediately lit up. She snatched them out of Bridget’s hand joyfully. “Hey! My lucky undies!”

Bridget sighed. Figures the only item they’d retrieved from her missing suitcase wasn’t even hers. _Well,_ Bridget thought as she looked at the elated expression on Franky’s face, _at least one of us is happy!_


End file.
